


First Time

by Govi



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: First Time spanking, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-03
Updated: 2010-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-07 16:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Govi/pseuds/Govi





	First Time

First time. Significant, but not significant enough to remember her name. The working up to it, kissing in the alley behind her house, the first careful slide of a hand upwards, cupping a full and firm breast through three layers of clothes and coat.

The other hand getting even more adventurous, sliding up a silken, trembling leg. Her hand coming down to stop your progress, both hands gripping, struggling even, until her hand gives in and you can lay yours on that damp secret, hidden behind sensible underwear. Stroking her clumsily, she still moans in your mouth and it's enough to make the movement of your body become erratic against hers, pushing her into the cold stone brick wall, grinding until you can't take it any more and come.

And then your parents are out some night and you take her up to your bedroom, you've planned it : your bedroom cleaned, the bed freshly made and the right record ready to play. Two yellow candles in empty wine bottles, but you never light them because need and want drive you and you pull her with you on the bed and drag her down.

She's afraid, making small noises that go straight to your groin and there's no stopping now. Fumbling hands wrestle with buttons and zippers, tearing away soft fabric, revealing more and more until you finally have your hands on bare skin, on rosy nipples, you groan and she gasps but it's not enough, you need more.

Nervous hands, almost tearing the condom, and then you're fucking for the first time, her cries of pain almost unheard in your selfish way to completion.

First time and you don't even remember her name.

 

And then there's a new girl. You marry her, because that's how it should be, they tell you. You still remember her name, but not much more, you were both too young.

Working is not too bad, school bored you, and at least you make money now. Somewhere inside you, you know there's more, there's got to be more and then one day you find it and you go for it.

Your wife is stunned, your Dad shakes his head and your friends call you 'fairy'. But you don't care, you follow your dream and end up in London in a small rented room, going home only for the weekends. For the first time in your life you have a goal and you love it.

You miss home, but still love living there. You discover books, and suddenly you can't read enough, so much to explore. At night there's the pub, so different from home, the debates and discussions on Shakespeare and Samuel Beckett, not on football.

 

He's almost always there, a regular, your eyes met that first time and locked until his mouth curled in what was almost a dare, making you look away. Still you know he's watching you like you are watching him. There's something wild about him, dark and brooding, and you lie in bed torn between fear and want.

You dress up that night, the night your friends are all at a party - you say you're ill, and in a way you are - because you know you're going there alone. Because you know what will happen if he's there. You don't want to go and still you do.

You open the door to the pub and he's there all right. You listen to Roxy Music singing 'Avalon' on the juke-box and hang around the bar, unable to go to him or leave. And then he's suddenly there, grabbing your elbow and steering you through the crowd.

He lives right above the pub and you can still hear the juke-box while he undresses you. No kissing, no talking, he pushes you face down on the bed. You just lie there, your face flushed with shame and guilt and lust, while he moves slick fingers inside you, until you barely recognize your own voice going strident on the Dire Straits below you.

His weight is upon you, pushing against you and then inside you. He's grunting and his mouth is on your neck, his teeth marking you. Your face pressed in the pillow, tears making it damp and it it's almost too much.

You still can't remember her name, but the innocent blue flower print on her knickers you tore from her body seems to dance before your eyes. He's almost brutal, like you were that first time and that's good, because you couldn't bear tenderness now.

So vulnerable and it hurts, until it starts feeling good, brilliant even and you both cry out. When it's over you leave, there's nothing to say or to share. No regrets, because you needed this somehow.

Next weekend you tell your wife it's over, like getting fucked has cleared out your brain. She cries, but without real sadness. You know she's better off without you.

 

You go on with your life, meet new girls. Meet new blokes, have sex with them, but never more then hand or blow jobs, you shy away for more. And then you meet the right woman. You love her, have two daughters with her and life is good and quiet for a few years.

Then the restlessness creeps back in and just in time they offer you this big hero part to play. You kiss your wife and your girls goodbye, you're sad, but also thankful to leave. The second day in the Crimea finds you on your knees in some stable with one of the stuntmen.

You call home, talk to your kids and feel like the bastard you are. The shooting is demanding and long, you hate flying, so you don't go home that often. You miss your kids, they mean the world to you, but your marriage is falling apart, and you know it.

Another divorce, and this time the press is interested, so it's all ugly. People you never even heard off quote you and the blame's all on you. You learn to live with it.

You're lonesome and hurting and then there's that new co-star and you think you've found a new chance. It's all good during the filming and then you get home, get married and have another kid before you realize it won't work.

The things she loved about you on set – the roughness, the accent and your roots – she hates them now, wants you to discard them. In fights she calls you common and you call her a pretentious snob. But you still want to make it work, so you try.

Out for a weekend together, you visit some posh friends of hers, and she starts making fun of your accent and – worse even – mocking you about your football addiction.

You manage to keep your rage inside, you are an actor after all, but back in the hotel you explode. She starts yelling and behaves likes Daddy's little girl and you pull her over your knees, get her knickers down and treat her like one, slap her arse until you realize she's squirming in your lap.

She sobs silently and you stare at her tight little arse, the flesh pink and hot. You throw her on the bed and she just lies there, still sobbing. In the bathroom you find the stuff she uses to clean her face at night, you know it'll do.

She doesn't fight you, her breathing ragged, but her body pliant while you move your fingers inside her. You know you hurt her when your cock replaces your fingers, but you don't fucking care, for the first time in months you feel brilliant, pounding in that pretty virgin arse.

Now she fights you, but you pin her down easily and let her take it all, her flesh burning hot against your belly. Every brutal thrust makes her mewl and makes you feel better. Afterwards she turns her back on you and you leave her alone, feeling sorry and again not.

The next morning, still refusing to look at you, she tells you it's over. There's no fighting, no arguing, because you know she's right . Another failure, you're alone again. No more, you decide. You have three wonderful children, and you can manage without more complications.

 

Then there's the ultimate offer, a wonderful distraction and you're off to the other side of the world. From the beginning you feel at home, everyone so very nice and the country is great.

A few weeks later Stuart is out and a new Aragorn arrives. The moment you lay eyes on him you know you're in trouble. You want him.

You want him with an intensity that frightens you, and it makes you grumpy. You look at him and admire him, watch him, almost hoping he will do something terrible, something that will turn you off. He doesn't.

A great friend and you wish you could be content with that, but you can't. He has strange quirks, makes you laugh and feel young again, but he's also the most sincere person you've ever met. You feel he's beautiful inside and out, too good for someone like you, and you try to keep him at a distance, to keep him safe.

But he won't have it, and he finds you everywhere until one night you can't take it any longer and tell him. Tell him the whole story, tell him about how you've fucked up time and time again and how he should get the hell out of your house while he still can.

But instead he gets closer to you and for the first time in your life you reach out and kiss a man. For the first time you want it to be good for him in the first place, because he's never been with a man. For the first time in your life someone trusts you enough to give himself to you without reservations.

For the first time in your life you actually make love. You love him.


End file.
